


In Which Enjolras Breaks Grantaire's Window

by grantairas



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantairas/pseuds/grantairas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras comes to Grantaire's to finally tell him how he feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Enjolras Breaks Grantaire's Window

**Author's Note:**

> based off of this post: http://enjolrasland.tumblr.com/post/52548525565/sclez-williamshakespaere-enjolras-finally  
> this might have been done already and if so i'm sorry

By the time he’s thrown the 16th pebble, Enjolras is wondering whether there’s any point in counting anymore. Grantaire hasn’t shown any sign of hearing him; no lights on in the window, no irritated shouts, but Enjolras knows he’s up there. Asleep, surely. He must look angelic. Thinking about it only makes him want to see him more, so Enjolras picks up the 17th rock and flings it with as much force as possible.

He flinches when he hears it. In the dark, he can barely see the shards of glass spilling onto the front lawn and the gaping hole they leave. At first he wonders if the broken window will make Grantaire angry, which would completely ruin his plan. But he has to be proud at least of the fact that he’s woken him up now.

“Who the fuck did that?”

Enjolras listens intently to the heavy footsteps approaching the window. The light flicks on, and he sees Grantaire’s face, adorably sleepy. He fails at trying not to smile.

“Sorry for breaking the window. I hadn’t planned on that happening.”

“As if the first thousand or so rocks weren’t enough,” Grantaire replies casually. He kneels down and leans his head on his hands, staring at Enjolras with smug eyes.

“You mean... you heard those?” Enjolras glares up at him. “Why didn’t you answer?”

“I figured when I finally did come down you’d be super angry. And you know how much I love you angry.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. Grantaire leaves the window for a minute, and when he comes back he’s tugging a sweater over his head and sighing. “Enjolras, it’s 3 a.m. And freezing cold. Why exactly are you here?”

He grins up at Grantaire, stepping closer so he can see him better. He notices the miserably dirty and messy state of his hair, the dark stubble hugging the curve of his jaw, and the gleam of his eyes as he waits for an answer. Enjolras has never wanted him more.

“I need you to come down,” he says, more pleadingly than he intended. “It’s important. I know you’d rather be sleeping, but I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“Are you going to serenade me, Apollo? Tell me you’re in love with me? Ask me to run away with you?” He laughs, a little too loudly for this time of night, and idly taps his fingers against the shattered window so the last remaining pieces fall to the ground.  “After you fix my window, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

“Are you sure it has to be after? All the home improvement stores I know of are closed at this hour.”

He waits for Grantaire’s reply. But it never comes. He just gazes down at him blankly, arms crossed on the windowsill with his oversized sweater just barely falling off one shoulder. Enjolras hadn’t thought to look at those details before, but now they prevent him from forming a sentence.

“Are you- I mean, do you want- you’re coming, ri-”

“Answer my question this time,” Grantaire says, slowly tracing the ragged edge of where the rock broke through the glass. Another shower of tiny pieces comes sprinkling onto the grass in front of Enjolras.

“I know I haven’t been...” He pauses, hoping for an encouraging look from Grantaire, but when he doesn’t get one, he continues, “the kindest to you, and I’m aware of how insufferable I can be-” Grantaire snorts “-so this is my... apology? Declaration? I don’t know, I’m hopeless.”

He kicks at the pile of glass. This time, when he glances back up, Grantaire is looking at him again, just barely smiling.

“That’s reason enough for me. But first, where are we going?” He stands up and attempts to smooth out his hair. “Never mind, I prefer surprises. Give me a second. I’ll be right there.”

 

As far as planning went, Enjolras hadn’t even considered where to go. But now that he has Grantaire walking beside him, holding the mug of tea they are sharing, he doesn’t see the need in a destination. The patterns of stars above them remind him of the small shards of glass from Grantaire’s window, and he doesn’t regret breaking it anymore.

“So who forced you into this?” Grantaire asks suddenly.

Enjolras scowls. “No one. Why would anyone have to force me into coming to see you?”

Grantaire gapes at him, then turns away and laughs. His voice sounds hollow in the empty street. “Your ego would get in the way. They’d never even try.”

Enjolras takes the mug of tea from Grantaire’s hands. “No one forced me,” he says slowly, “because I did this myself. I wanted to.”

He takes a long drink from the mug, ignoring the way Grantaire’s eyes seem to linger on his mouth. When he’s swallowed the nearly scalding tea, Grantaire murmurs, “You promised it’d be worth it. It’s not that I don’t appreciate sharing tea and walking around at three in the morning with you, but I was expecting something a little different.”

Enjolras nods. He reaches over without thinking, intertwining their fingers, and steps closer so their shoulders are pressed together and he can feel Grantaire shivering under his sweater.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he whispers. He lets Grantaire lead him.

 

There’s a small field, not far from where they had started, outlined by bare trees and covered in dry grass. Grantaire stands in the middle of it, looking apologetic. He had let go of Enjolras’ hand five minutes ago and Enjolras hasn’t figured out what to do with it since.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire grumbles. “I know it’s not romantic or pretty, but I like it.”

Enjolras settles for pushing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and steps up to Grantaire. “Then I like it, too,” he says, smiling gently.

“I come here to clear my head, relax, whatever,” Grantaire goes on, ignoring him.

Under the moonlight, the space feels eerie, empty. Enjolras looks around and ends up staring at Grantaire again, who’s now stretched out on the ground, arms folded over his chest, the deep green sleeves of his sweater pulled over his hands.

“You don’t look very comfortable,” Enjolras begins unsurely.

“I will be once you lie down with me.” Grantaire rolls onto his side and fixes his eyes up at Enjolras. They’re gentle, longing, and the tiny smirk he gives in reply to Enjolras’ hesitation is enough to convince him. The ground feels like a block of ice but turning to face Grantaire makes it bearable.

“You should do things like this more,” he says, turning back to look up at the sky. Enjolras doesn’t know what to say, so he weakly shoots back, “What makes you think I don’t?”

“You? Getting out of bed to look at stars? That would never happen. Unless you’re with me. Like now.” He takes Enjolras’ hand in his and holds it against his chest. “You should spend more time with me,” he adds softly.

He plays with Enjolras’ fingers absentmindedly, weaving and unweaving them with his own, tracing the space between them, holding them up against the sky. Every few seconds he presses warm kisses to his wrist, and Enjolras is in love. With the flecks of hazel in his green eyes, with the sleepy way he blinks, with everything about him, and he feels it radiating around them, but Grantaire won’t be able to tell because he can’t express it in words.

He silently revels in Grantaire’s breath on his skin.

“I’m sorry if I’m a little possessive, Apollo,” he mumbles. “I’ve never really had you all to myself like this.”

Enjolras wants to remind him of the time a few weeks back, at the Cafe Musain, when just before the meeting they had kissed and were laughing breathlessly into each other’s skin. But all he says is, “Okay.” He bites his lip.

“Okay?” Grantaire smirks again, turning his attention from Enjolras’ hand to stare at him, which only makes the embarrassment worse. “Okay? What is that supposed to mean?”

Enjolras hates his sudden loss of words, the fact that he can’t speak. The worst part is that he knows what he wants to say to Grantaire, but one glance in his eyes and he loses any hope of even trying. He shouldn’t feel this way at all; compassion was one thing, but he knew this was different. It was alien, and painful, and how was he supposed to understand it? How could he keep letting it distract him and wake him up at odd hours and drag him to Grantaire’s house?

He realizes he’s leaned in closer, and Grantaire has too. He rests his forehead on Enjolras’ and quickly brushes his lips against his. He’s still holding onto his hand.

Enjolras can’t help it then. “I love you,” he says softly, and it doesn’t feel wrong at all.

Grantaire smiles and answers, “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Enjolras.”

He pulls away, the smile fading as he lets go of Enjolras’ hand. He pulls the sleeves of his sweater down over his knuckles again and crosses his arms. He doesn’t say anything else.

“But I do mean it. I know I do. I’ve thought about it.” Enjolras props himself up on one arm and looks down intently at Grantaire. “I just don’t know how to say it. I want to though.”

He pauses. He can hear his breath catch when the familiar smirk flickers across Grantaire’s lips. He waits for him to say something, but they end up staring at each other wordlessly, Enjolras wrangling with the emotions knotted in his chest, and Grantaire suppressing laughter. Enjolras hadn’t noticed his hands clenched into fists, or his heartbeat in his ears. He looks away from Grantaire’s glowing face for a moment and breathes out.

Finally, he says, “I hate that I don’t know what to say to you right now. I’ve thought about it at least a thousand times. I had a plan when I came to your window of what I was going to say, how it would sound, and I thought it’d really make you happy, but instead I’m just staring at you and speaking in a run-on sentence that makes no sense and I’m really annoyed at myself but I still want you to know that I’ve finally realized how much I care about you and honestly I love you, even if you don’t believe it, I do, please believe me.”

Grantaire’s eyes brighten. His smirk turns into a smile, and he tries to answer, but Enjolras promptly continues.

“Also I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’ve been rude and cold and selfish but it was because I didn’t know how else to react to what you made me feel, and the last thing I wanted was to make myself vulnerable to you by admitting all of this, but I should have from the start because it’s good, it feels good, I’m happy right now, you know? I haven’t been happy this way before. Don’t laugh at me. Please stop looking at me that way, oh my God.”

Grantaire reaches up and curls a strand of Enjolras’ hair around his finger. He stares at him steadily for a minute before he says, “Come here.”

He doesn’t wait for Enjolras. He sits up and presses his hand to Enjolras’ chest, pushing him back down gently so he can lean over him. His eyes are wild, his dark hair falling over his face and brushing against Enjolras’ cheeks. Even the inches of space between them are too much, and Enjolras wants to close the gap and just kiss him, but Grantaire holds him back.

“You don’t have to be sorry, for one thing,” he breathes. “And secondly, it’s okay that you didn’t have words. You always have words for everything, but this is different. And I like it. Don’t ever form a proper sentence in front of me again.”

“I- okay.”

“And...” Grantaire slips his hand up to cup Enjolras’ cheek. “You have made me happy. Happier than I can remember being, as cliche as that is. I thought I was happy just listening to you speak, or watching you read, or seeing you get sleepy but fighting it because you’d never fall asleep in front of people, and all those things will probably still make me happy; the difference is now I know that I can make you happy too, and that’s probably the best thing I could have hoped to achieve in my shitty excuse for a life.” He gently kisses the corner of Enjolras’ mouth. A tiny laugh escapes when Enjolras turns his head to kiss him along his jaw.

“So you believe me, then?” Enjolras murmurs against his cheek. He presses a line of soft kisses leading back to his mouth, and then he waits.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” Grantaire answers. “But could you prove it to me some more?”

Enjolras takes his hand and smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first real attempt at writing e/R so i hope it was at least decent


End file.
